


Where Art Thou Dean Motherfucking Winchester!?!

by amusawale



Series: Fight or Fuck Reflex [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Arrested, M/M, Mad!Sam, missing!dean, no forgiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusawale/pseuds/amusawale
Summary: Dean went off to 'get some space' from Sam. But he hasn't picked up his phone in five days. Should Sam be worried or even more pissed?





	1. Oz

“Sam?”

Sam didn’t answer even though Dean could hear him breathing down the line. He didn’t have much time. The cop who’d arrested him was already breathing down his neck. Maybe he shouldn’t have jammed his elbow so hard into the guy’s face but who the fuck in their right minds snuck up on someone? In a dark alley on the wrong side of town? He was just asking, no begging to get hurt.

Technically though, aside from assaulting a police officer, Dean had done _nothing_ wrong.

“Sam?” he said again, hopefully, “I need you to come get me.”

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice sounded rough, like he’d been screaming into the void. That, or he was just mad as hell.

Yeah so what else was new?

“I’m at Cowley county jail.”

“How long have you been at Cowley county jail?”

Dean hardly thought that was relevant right this minute…

“What does that-“

“How long Dean?”

Dean sighed, “Five days.”

“I see. And is this the first they’ve let you call?”

Actually Dean had been hoping to resolve this little snafu all by himself but…sometimes he just rubbed people the wrong way. And he’d never had the best relationship authority figures. Especially authority figures who tried to bully him.

∞

Sam was grim when Dean caught sight of him waiting at the reception of the police station. The look in his eye reminded Dean eerily of Dad that time he’d caught him at the club when he was fourteen. Super crazy to think about.

He didn’t want to think about Sam looking like dad.

He opened his mouth to say, “Heya Sammy!” in that tone which usually got him a narrow look and a “It’s Sam.” But then closed it again. This probably wasn’t a good time.

Sam was driving the rust bucket truck that usually stayed parked somewhere in the back of the MOL garage. Dean opened his mouth to complain about how he didn’t want to be seen in that thing but closed it again. Sam’s face was completely closed off. Even more than usual. His usual schtick wouldn’t fly here. He’d just make things worse. And contrary to popular opinion, he wasn’t as unself-aware as advertised.

“Baby’s parked at this motel I was staying at,” he said instead.

Sam just shot a glare at him.

“I can maybe take an uber…” Dean said.

“Get in the car Dean.” Sam growled, the air visibly cooling around him.

Dean got in the car.

They drove to the motel in silence. Sam didn’t ask for directions. Dean opened his mouth once or twice to say something. To ask maybe how Sam knew where to go. But he closed it without saying a word. They drew up at the motel, Sam parked right next to the Impala.

“How did you-”

“Get out of the car Dean” Sam interrupted him _again_. This boy really thought he held all the cards just because of one itty bitty possession.

“I will leave the car when I feel like it and not a moment before,” Dean retorted.

“Well then, feel like it now!” Sam said alighting the vehicle and slamming the door behind him. He walked briskly and angrily to Dean’s motel room door, not looking back as if he expected that Dean would just go trotting after him like an obedient puppy.

Dean considered it. For all of half a second.

But no.

He’d already given Sam too much power in this relationship.

“I said _get in here_ ,” Sam appeared at the motel room door, glaring back at the car.

Dean got.


	2. Sorry Just Isn't Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have a talk using their bodies.

As soon as he stepped in the door, Sam had thrown him across the room. More out of surprise than anything, he stumbled, tripping on his feet and landing on the bed. He’d gotten himself a king just to make sure he remembered that his relationship with his brother was broken and there would probably never be ‘two queens’ ever again.

“Sam…” he said warningly because while he was willing to admit to being in the wrong of things here, that did not mean he would allow his brother to fling him about just for the fun of it.

“Five days Dean. Five days without a word. You don’t write. You don’t call. After two days, your phone doesn’t even ring anymore. Straight to voicemail. _What was I supposed to think Dean?!?_ Was I supposed to imagine you passed out with several floozies draped all over you or was I supposed to imagine you dead in a ditch somewhere, probably with your heart ripped out – you know it’s a full moon this week – or maybe exsanguinated from some vampire we encountered way back. Maybe two. Maybe they captured you and were draining your blood slowly. Do you think maybe such thoughts might have passed through my head? Huh? And you were… _in jail_? Really?”

Then Dean said the most stupid thing ever, “I thought you didn’t care about me like that anymore Sam.”

Sam’s face exploded. Dean had never seen him in such a fury, even at the height of his demon blood addiction or his tumultuous teenage years. He felt a hand on his wrist for just a moment before it was twisted up behind his head.

“Ouch,” he managed to say, knowing that it was definitely sprained. Then two hundred pounds of furious little big brother were on him, tearing at his clothes _with his teeth_. If he hadn’t known better, Dean might think _Sam_ was the werewolf he’d just finished describing. He felt his shirt tear and then there was a knee in his thigh, pressing down, with no regard to the muscle it was squishing underneath. Clearly Sam was least concerned about hurting him. He pulled his leg from beneath Sam’s knee, inadvertently spreading his legs and apparently giving Sam exactly what he wanted. The hand not holding Dean’s wrist captive went to Sam’s waist and undid his belt. Before he could say, “Sam, wait,” both his wrists were tied to the bed.

Sam was growling.

His eyes were even narrower and red with anger. His _whole face_ was red with anger.

Dean began to struggle in earnest, not completely sure that his brother didn’t mean to kill him slowly. Maybe.

Buttons flying every which way, his shirt was ripped from his body and cast away like yesterday’s Egg Foo Yung. Before Dean could suck in a breath at the cold his chest was left in and complain about the scratches Sam left on his body, Sam’s hands were burrowing into his jeans, pulling at the button and working the zip with furious focus.

Dean opened his mouth to say, “Sam...” but then took one look at Sam’s face and closed it again. Sam’s eyes were blank with the fury of his actions, his face was red, there was a slight shake to his hands and his legs were like steel vices, keeping Dean’s legs spread.

They hadn’t done this in a while.

First, because Sam was ill with the trials, and then Dean wasn’t about to have sex with his brother while he was possessed by an Angel. He’d made excuse after excuse, finding ways to push Sam away without pushing him away. First he said he was too afraid because Sam was still weak and then there were the falling angels and the mess they were creating…any reason he could think of. Of course Sam had been exasperated with his overprotectiveness and overcautiousness but it was so typical of Dean to be those things that Sam didn’t take it amiss.

But now, it was just another reason for Sam to be mad at him.

His jeans were ripped off him as well and thrown on the ground and then Sam’s fingers were questing, seeking, opening him up, dry and ruthless but efficient.

“Okay. So we’re doing this…” Dean murmured to himself and made his body relax as much as he was able to make it easier.

Sam leaned in and _bit his cheek_.

“Ow! Bitch! What was that for?”

“That was for making me imagine you dead Dean. Dead in the worst ways possible. That was for how much you disregard my _feelings_ Dean. For how much you disregard _me_!”

“I don’t-”

“ _Shut up_!” Sam said and bit him again even as he pushed into Dean with relentless shoves.

“Anyone tell you, you talk too much Dean? You never know when to _fucking shut up_!” Sam said punctuating each word with a thrust.

“I (thrust) hate (shove) you (slam) so (ram) much,” he said as he pounded relentlessly into his brother.

“Sam,” Dean breathed, tears in his eyes. Not really tears of pain; tears of guilt and remorse and regret. His brother was hurting and it was his fault. Again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he breathed as he felt hot liquid fall on his face. He wasn’t the only one in tears.

“Fuck you Dean,” Sam said voice shaking even as his body unceasingly pounded his brother into the mattress, causing the headboard to bang against the wall again and again. Dean opened his legs wider, arched his back up to make it easier, give Sam more access.

That seemed to make Sam even more mad, “No you don’t you self-sacrificing _bastard_. You don’t get to offer yourself up to me. You do not get forgiven for this!” Sam said increasing his pace even as he pushed Dean back down onto the bed. Dean took hold of his legs at the knee and pulled them right up to his neck.

“Missed you Sammy,” he whispered as the pounding got so fast Sam just might ignite a fire with his ass as kindling.

The crying was getting ugly and snot was pouring out of Sam’s nose and falling on Dean’s stomach. Dean wanted to reach up and wipe Sam’s tears, tell him he was sorry, that he would do anything to make it better…

But that wasn’t what Sam needed.

Dean wiped his own snot against his shoulder, vision blurry with his tears.

‘ _SamSamSamSamSam_ ’ was a mantra in his head, keeping time with his brother’s thrusts. Suddenly Sam arched, back in extremity as Dean felt the wetness of his come flooding his insides.

_It had been so long._

His own orgasm was an impatient afterthought as he savored feeling his brother inside him again, filling him up with the essence of himself.

Sam tore out of him after, stumbling off the bed as he lifted his jeans back up and zipped himself up. He staggered to the door grabbing the keys to his truck and disappearing outside. Dean made his slow way to his feet and hobbled to the door, just in time to see his brother tearing out of the parking lot.

He sighed.

“Guess we’re not fixed,” he said to nobody in particular.


End file.
